PHILIP THE KING 

AND OTHER POEMS 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NHW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



PHILIP THE KING 



AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 

JOHN MASEFIELD 



Neil) lark 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1914 

All rights reterved 






Copyright, 1913, by Harper and Brothers. 
Copyright, 1914, by The Century Company and by 
the McClure Publications. 



COPTKIGHT, 1914, 

By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1914. 



Norfaooli iPr<BB 

J. S. Gushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 

Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 

NOV -5 1914 

©CLA3S7351 



Zo 

MY WIFE 



CONTENTS 

PAOB 

Philip the King 1 

The "Wanderer" 87 

August, 1914 106 

The River 112 

Watching by a Sick-Bed 140 



vii 



PHILIP THE KING 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 



PERSONS 

Philip the Second of Spain 

His Daughter, the Infanta 

An English Prisoner 

A Spanish Captain 

Guards 

SPIRITS 

Indians 

Don John of Austria 

Escovedo 

Don Alvaro de Bazan, the Marquis of Santa Cruz 

Alonso de Leyva 

TIME 
At dawn in late September, 1588 

SCENE 
A little dark cell in Philip's palace 



PHILIP THE KING 

Philip {Kneeling). 

Lord, I am that Philip whom Thou hast 
made King of half the world. Thou knowest, 
Lord, how great a fleet I have fitted out to 
destroy the English, who work evil against 
Thee. Lord, I beseech Thee, keep that great 
Armada now, as I trust, in battle on the 
English coast. Protect my ships, O Lord, 
from fire and pestilence, from tempest and 
shipwreck, and in the day of battle. Amen. 
Amen. 

Lord, now that the battle is joined, grant 
us Thy victory, I beseech Thee. Amen. 
Amen. 

Lord, I beseech Thee to have in Thy special 
keeping my beloved friend, Alonso de Leyva, 



4 PHILIP THE KING 

now at sea with my fleet. Guard his ways, 

Lord, that so he may come safely home to 

me. Amen. Amen. 

Lord, of Thy mercy, I beseech Thee to 

send to me, if it be Thy will, some word or 

message from my fleet, that I may know 

Thy will concerning it, that my weary heart 

may find peace. Amen. Amen. 

{He rises.) 
Enter the Princess. 

Princess. 
Has no news come ? 

Philip. 
None yet. 

Princess. 

Still nothing ? 

Philip. 

No. 

Princess. 
Two months now since they sailed and still 

no word. 



PHILIP THE KING 5 

Philip. 
The wind is foul ; they cannot send. 

Princess. 

I know. 

And yet what tales, what rumours we have 

heard. 

How the heart sickens for the want of news. 

Is that a courier ? 

Philip. 

No. 

Princess. 

What if we lose ? 

Philip. 
Why should we lose ? 

Princess. 

Because of too much pride 

Planning for glory not as scripture bade. 

Philip. 
I am not proud nor hopeful, nor afraid. 

But you are trembling, sweet, and heavy- 
eyed. 



6 philip the king 

Pkincess. 
I am afraid, for all night long 
'i'lie spirit of Spain's committed wrong, 
Nourished wherever a life was shed, 

Stood near my bed ; 
And all night long it talked to me 
Of a trouble there is beyond the sea. 
A trouble of war ... I heard a horn 

Blowing forlorn, 
And I knew that it came from far away. 
From men of Spain in a pass at bay 
Blowing for help ; the beaten call 
None heeds at all. 
And now I fear that we have angered Him 

Who makes pride dim. 

Philip. 
What wc have done with our might 
Cannot be hateful to God. 
He speaks with dreams in the night 
That the tired heart turn home 



nil LIP THE KING 7 

And an end of brooding come. 
My heart has flushed in His praise, 
The glow in my heart took sail 
In a fleet that darkens the sprays; 
Sacrifice may not avail, 
But the uttermost gift is wise. 

Princess. 
Yes, I believe that ; and the deed is grand — 
It is a mighty blow to deal for God. 
But in my ear there rings 
Ill-omened words about the pride of kings — 
"Pride is the evil that destroys a land." 

Philip. 
Brooding and watching waste you, you must 

sleep ; 
The hand of God will bring us through the 

deep. 

Princess. 
Amen, my father, but my heart is breakinii?. 



8 PHILIP THE KING 

Philip. 
You are too young for heart-break ; let it be. 

Princess. 
There was another fear which kept me 

waking : 
Spain's unborn monarchs came by night to 

me, 
Each holding fewer of the Spanish gems 
Here and abroad, each weaker in the soul. 
With wearier brows and dimmer diadems. 
And feebler fingers giving up control, 
Till, as it seemed, a hundred years from now. 
An idiot child was all the might of Spain, 
And English spirits beat them on the brow, 
Robbing their gems and binding them with 

chain. 
And Spain's proud flag was draggled in the 

sea. 
And then these shapes lamented, threaten- 
ing me; 



PHILIP THE KING 9 

Saying that we began Spain's downfall 

here — 
So grimly, father, that I shook with fear. 

Philip. 
Child, these are only dreams. I have 

learned this 
Since I have been a king, that our concern 
Is not with Hope nor Fear, but with what is, 
Which, when we follow dreams, we cannot 

learn. 
Be patient, child; besides, the wind has 

changed ; 
God's will must never find our hearts 

estranged : 

The wind is north, the news may come to-day. 

Ship after ship is running down the Bay 

With news; God grant that it be happy 

news. 

Princess. 
Rest till it comes, dear father. 



10 PHILIP THE KING 

Philip. 

You can choose, 

You who are young, whether to rest or no ; 

When one is old one sees the hours go. 

Dear, they go fast from withered men like 
me. 

You were my little daughter on my knee 

When first this war with England was con- 
ceived. 

Now you are this . . ., it would not be 
believed. 

And nothing done, and still time hurrying 

by. 
We are two grey old partners — Time and I : 
Look at the work we dp . . . you talk of 

rest. 

Princess. 
You call your Captains in and choose the 

best, 
And make him do the work. 



PHILIP THE KING H 

Philip. 

Ah, you're a Queen, 
That is what you would do, but I am King. 
Kings have no beauty to make duty keen; 
They have to supervise with whip and sting. 

Princess. 
You do not whip men ; you are good and 

mild. 

Philip. 

Artists and Kings do what they can, my child, 
Not what they would. It is not easy, dear. 
Working with men, for men are only clay, 
They crumble in the hand, or they betray 
And time goes by, but no results appear — 
Your little hands have happier work than 

mine. 
Ah, little daughter, childhood is divine. 

Princess. 
I am no child now that the fleet has sailed ; 

I was till then, but now I realize 

What it would cost my father if it failed. 



12 PHILIP THE KING 

Philip. 
Yes, it has cost some life, this enterprise. 

Princess. 
But all you had to d(i was give the word. 

Philip. 
Ah, darling, many thousand men have heard 

Orders from me since this attempt began 

Seventeen years ago. Full many a man 

Who helped the earliest outlines of the plot 

Died at his unknown task suspecting not 

What pattern his life's colour helped to weave. 

Child, if I told you, you would not believe 

How this idea has triumphed on unchanged 

Past great commanders' deaths, past faith 

estranged, 
Past tyranny and bloodshed and ill-hap. 
Treachery striking like a thunder-clap. 
Murder, betrayal, lying, past all these. 
Past the grim days when feelings had to 

freeze 



PHILIP THE KING 13 

Lest the great King should drop his mask of 

lies 
And hint his purpose to the thwarted spies, 
Past half a world of men and years of thought, 
Past human hope, to be the thing I sought. 
Now that the dice are scattered for the stakes, 
I half forget that old affront of Drake's, 
By which this war with England was begun. 
O child, the labour that must first be done 
Before a King can act ! — unending work. 
All the long days of beating down the Turk, 
Then when Don John had thrust the Cres- 
cent down 
(You cannot know) he plotted for the crown ; 
Don John, my Admiral, plotted against me. 
He would have sunk the English in the sea, 
But since he plotted, that was ended too. 
Then a great world of labour still to do,' 
The French to check, and then the Portu- 
guese, 



14 PHILIP THE KING 

Clearing myself a pathway through tlie seas. 
Then, when my way was clear, my Admiral 

died. 
The Marquis Santa Cruz, the unconquered 

guide. 
The greatest sea commander of known times. 
Seventeen years of subtleties and crimes. 

But it is done. I have resolved those years> 
Those men, those crimes, those great at- 
tempts, those tears. 
Sorrows and terrors of a twisted earth, 
Into this fleet, this death, this Dragon's 

birth ; 
I who have never seen it, nor shall see. 

Princess. 
I shall thank God that it was shown to me ; 

I saw it sail. 

Philip. 
You saw my heart's blood, child. 



PHILIP THE KING 15 

Princess. 
All a long summer day those ships defiled. 
I never saw so many nor so grand; 
They wandered down the tide and cleared 

the land, 
And ranked themselves like pikemen, clump 

to clump. 
Then in the silence came the Admiral's 

trump, 
And from those hundreds of expectant ships, 
From bells and cannonade and sailors' lips, 
And from the drums and trumpets of the 

foot 
Burst such a roaring thunder of salute 
As filled my heart with wonder like a cup. 
They cheered St. James's banner going up — 
Golden St. James, whose figure blew out 

fair. 
High on the flagship's mast in the blue air, 
Rippling the gold. Then all the city bells, 



16 PHILIP THE KING 

Fired like the singing spheres some spirit 

impels, 
Rang in the rocking belfries, the guns roared. 
Each human soul there shook like tautened 

cord. 
And to that Christian march the singing 

priests 
Bore up the blessed banners. Even the 

beasts 
Ramped at the challenge of that shouting 

crowd. 
Then, as the wind came fair, the Armada 

bowed. 
Those hundreds of great vessels, ranked in 

line. 
Buried their bows and heaped the bubbled 

brine 
In gleams before them. So they marched; 

the van, 
Led by De Ley va, like slipped greyhounds, ran 



PHILIP THE KING 17 

To spy the English. On the right and left 
By Valdes and his friend the seas were cleft ; 
Moncada's gallies weltered like a weir, 
Flanking Recalde, bringing up the rear, 
While in the midst St. James's banner 

marched, 
Blowing towards England till the flagpole 

arched. 
Onward they swept the sea, the flagship's 

side 
Smoked from her cannon's hail ; she took 

her stride. 
Leaned and stretched forward. 

I was conscious then 
That I beheld the greatest fleet that men 
Ever sent seaward ; all the world was there, 
All nations that begem the crown you 

wear, 
Pikemen of Rome, whose settled pikes had 

stood 



18 PHILIP THE KING 

Stern in full many a welter of man's blood. 
Cunning Levantines, armed with crooked 

swords, 
Venetians bronzed, the ocean's overlords, 
Pisans and knights of Malta, Ferrarese, 
Passionate half-bloods from the Indian seas, 
Hollanders, Austrians, even English, come 
To bring again religion to their home ; 
Spain too, our Andalusians, and the hale 
Iberian Basquers used to hunt the whale — 
The flower of the knighthood of the world 
Mustered beneath the banner you unfurled. 

And that was but the half, for there in 

France 
Was Parma's army ready to advance, 
Death-coupled bloodhounds straining to the 

slip, 
Waiting your navy's coming to take ship. 
Father, such power awed me. 



PHILIP THE KING 19 

Philip. 

Time and I 
Worked for long years. 

Princess. 
And when it had passed by 
The bells were silent, and a sigh arose 
Of joy in that fleet's pride, and grief for 

those 
Who, even if all went well, had looked their 

last 
On men and women who had made their 

past. 
Then darkness came, and all that I could 

see 
Was the horizon where the fleet must be — 
A dimming skyline with a setting star. 
It was as though they died; and now, who 

knows 
What has befallen them, or where they 

are? 



20 I'll 111 I' THE KING 

And iiight by sleepless night my trouble 

grows. 
This daily silence has been hard to bear, 
But now I dread news worse. 

Philip. 

We must prepare, 

Hopinp; the best, but ready for the worst ; 

But patient still, for rumour must come 

first — 
Rumour and broken news and seamen's 

lies; 
Patience, expecting nothing, is most wise. 
If God vouchsafes it, we shall hear to-day. 
Lighten your heart, my daughter. 

Princess. 

I will pray — 

Pray for a Spanij-ih triumph. 

Philip. 

Pray for me. 

Prnv for God's cause adventured on the sea. 



PHILIP THE KING 21 

Princess. 
I will; God help my prayer. 

Philip. 

God help us both. 

[^he goes. 

Lord, I have laboured long to keep my 

oath, 
And since my loved one died it has been 

hard. 
Lord, my God, in blessed mercy guard 
My only friend De Leyva, now at sea; 
Keep him, Lord, and bring him home to 

me. 

Lord, be thou his bulwark and his 

guide ; 

1 am so lonely since nay loved one died. 

How splendidly the nations hold their way, 
Marching with banners through the fields 
of Time! 



22 PHILIP THE KING 

Who sees the withered King weary and grey, 
Prompting it all with secret lust or crime? 
Who guesses at the heavy brain behind? 
I am Earth's greatest man; the world is 

blind. 

{He droops over his papers. Starting up.) 
I have still strength, and I must read these 

scrolls, 
Or else all goes to ruin; I must read. 

{He sleeps.) 

Voices. 
Philip ! 

Philip. 
Who calls? 

The Indians enter. 
Voices. 
We are the Indian souls, 
Loosed from the gold-mines where our 

brothers bleed. 
We swell the tale of blood: we dug you 
gold ; 



PHILIP THE KING 23 

We bore your burdens till we died of 

thirst ; 
We sweated in the mines or shook with 

cold, 
Washing the gravel which the blast had 

burst. 
We dived for pearls until our eyeballs 

bled; 
You burned us till we told where treasure 

lay. 
We were your Indian slaves, but we are 

dead; 
Our red account is cast and you must pay. 

A Voice. 
Our lives paid for your fleet; you pay for 

us. 
The unjustly killed restore the balance thus. 

A Voice. 
They flung my little baby to the hounds. 



24 PHILIP THE KING 

A Voice. 
They took my daughter from me for their 

lust. 

A Voice. 
Even the weak are strong beyond Ufe's 

bounds ; 
We myriad weak add power to the 

thrust. 

Voices. 
Phihp! PhiUp! PhiUp! 

We gather from over the sea 

To the justice that has to be 

While the blind red bull goes on. 

Philip ! Philip ! Philip ! 

We who were ciphers slain 

In a tale of the pride of Spain 

Are a part of her glory gone. 

A Voice. 
We see them where our will can help their 
foes. 



PHILIP THE KING 26 

A Voice. 
Quick, brother, quick! another galleon 

goes! 
Waken those sleeping gunners by the fire, 
Or she'll escape unracked. [They fadeaway. 

Philip. 

The voices tire. 

They go. I dreamed. I slept. My heavy 

head 
Is drowsed. What man is that? 

(Don John appears, with Escovedo he- 
hind him.) 

Voice of Don John of Austria. 

I am the dead; 
I am your brother, Philip — brother John. 

Philip. 
You corpse-fetch from the unclean grave, 

begone ! 
I had no brother. 



26 PHILIP THE KING 

Don John. 
Would you never had! 

Philip. 
You were a landmark of my father's sin, 

Never my brother. 

Don John. 

I was that bright lad, 

Your father's son, my brother; I helped 

win 

Great glory for you, Philip. 

Philip. 

I agreed 

To overlook your bastardy, my friend. 

So long as your bright talents served my 

need; 

But you presumed, and so it had to end. 

Don John. 
My talents served you well. 

Philip. 

They did, at first. 



PHILIP THE KING 27 

Don John. 
I won the Battle of Lepanto for you. 

Philip. 
And afterwards you killed my troops with 

thirst, 

Following a crazy scheme which overbore 

you. 

Don John. 

Not crazy, unsuccessful. 

Philip. 

Poor vain ghost, 

Poor flickering candle that was bright 

awhile. 

Don John. 

I was the man whom Europe worshipped 

most, 
One with a mighty plan which you thought 

guile. 
Why did you kill me, Philip? 

Philip. 
You betrayed me, 

Or would have, traitor, had I not been wise. 



28 PHILIP THE KING 

Don John. 
I was your board's best piece, you should 

have played me, 
Now I am dead and earth is in my eyes. 
I could have won you England. I had 

planned 
To conquer England. I had all prepared 
Ships, soldiers, money, but your cruel hand 
Killed me, and nothing's done and noth- 
ing's dared. 

Philip. 
You planned to conquer England and be 

Those who obstruct my path I sweep aside. 

Don John. 
Brother, there is a time for everything; 

That was the time for England, but 

I died; 

Now you attempt too late, 

The powers have closed the gate. 



PHILIP THE KING 29 

Destiny enters by another door, 
The lost chance conies no more. 

The Voice of Escovedo. 
Phihp, he tells the truth. We could have 

won 
England for you, we were no plotters then. 

Voices. 
Philip, you were betrayed, j^ou were un- 
done. 
You had the moment, but you killed the 

men. 

Escovedo. 
The liar, Perez, tricked you. great 

King ! 
We would have added England to your 

crown, 
Now the worms cling 
About our lips deep down. 
You had me stabbed at midnight going 

home 



30 PHILIP THE KING 

That man of Perez' stabbed me in the 

back. 
And then I could not stir, down on the 

loam ; 
The sky was full of blood, the stars were 

black. 
And then I knew my wife and children 

waited 
But that I could not come ; a moving hand 
Had interposed a something fated 
'Twixt us and what we planned. 

Don John. 
You had me poisoned in that Holland den, 

Outcast, alone, without the help of men. 

We planned a glorious hour 

Hoisting the banner of Spain 

On the top of London Tower, 

With England a Spanish fief. 

Life cannot happen again. 

And doing dies with the brain ; 



PHILIP THE KING 31 

Autumn ruins the flower 
And after the flower the leaf. 

Voices. 
Philip, PhiUp, Philip! 
The evil men do has strength, 
It gathers behind the veils 
While the unjust thing prevails. 
While the pride of life is strong. 
But the balance tips at length, 
And the unjust things are tales. 
The pride of life is a song. 

Philip. 
I kept my purpose while you hved. Shall I 
Be weaker, now that you are dead, you 

things ? 
What can such reedy wretches do but die 
Standing against the purposes of Kings? 

Don John. 
Do? We can thwart you. 



32 philip the king 

Voices. 

And we will, we will ; 

All Spain's unjustly murdered work you ill. 

Gather against him, gather, mock him 

down. 

The Voice of the Marquis of Santa 

Cruz. 
Scatter, you shadows, fly. Philip, great 

Iving. 
You vultures gathered in an unclean ring ; 
Away, you shadows, scatter. 
They are gone, 

Philip. 

The Marquis enters. 

Phiup. 
Wlio caUs? 

Santa Cruz. 
Master. 

Philip. 

Let me dream on. 

"VMiose voice was that ? It warned me of 

defeat. 



PHILIP THE KING 33 

Santa Cruz. 
I am that Santa Cruz who built your fleet, 

And died to make it good. It was my 

child. 

I call because my work has been defiled. 

Philip. 
Why rail, uneasy soul? 

Santa Cruz. 

If I had spent 

Less life in that, I should be still alive. 

Commanding what I built to my content. 

Driving the English slaves as conquerors 

drive. 
Why did you give away my splendid sword. 
Forged by a never-conquered captain's 

brain. 
Into the hoof-hand of an ambling lord, 
Useless in all things, but to ruin Spain? 
Would God I had but guessed it! Would 

my stars 



34 PHILIP THE KING 

Had shown me clearer what my death 
would bring, 

I would have burned those galleons, guns 
and spars, 

Soldiers and all, and so have stopped this 
thing. 

And doing that I should have sers'ed you 
well, 

And brought less ruin on this lovely land. 

What folly from the unfed brain of hell 

Made you promote that thing to my com- 
mand ? — 

Folly from which so many men must die. 

Philip. 
We stand against all comers, Time and I. 

I chose the Duke because I wanted one . . . 
Wlio . . . 

Santa Cruz. 
Give no reason for the e^nl done. 

Souls wrestle from the ever deedless grave 



PHILIP THE KING 35 

To do, not to hear reason. Oh, great King, 
You still may sa\'e the ruin of this thing! 

Philip. 
You speak of ruin. Tell me what you see. 

Santa Cruz. 
Ruin that threatens, but need never be. 
Be silent, Philip ; listen while I tell 
Wliat you must do. 

Philip. 
You are a voice from hell; 
I will not listen to these obscene dreams. 

Santa Cruz. 
Life is a heavy cloud, through which come 

gleams. 
Oh, PhiHp, let me speak! PhiHp, I say, 
One wa}' can still be tried ; I see the way. 
You must do this, but listen. 

Philip. 

I still doubt. 



36 philip the kixg 

Santa Cruz. 

Listen, groat King: the light is dying out. 

Yon are fading from me, Philip : they are 

coming. 
Before it is too late for ever send . . . 



Send ? 
Yes. 

To whom? 

To . . . 



Philip. 

Santa Cruz. 

Philip. 

Santa Cruz. 



Voices. 
Drown his voice with drmmning; 

Pipe with the Inca conch, the Indian flute. 

\Miat rod tlowei-s spring from this blood- 

sprinklevi root ! 

Phi UP. 
What n:nno was that you Siiid? 

Santa Ckuz. 
Wait, Philip — wait ; 
Thev are so manv and so full of hate. 



philip the kixg 37 

Voices. 
Call to your monarch, ^Marquis — call again. 

Philip. 
Something he meant is knocking at my 

brain — 

Knocking for entrance. ^larquis! 

Santa Cruz. 
Philip ! Iving ! 

Philip. 
\Miat must I do? 

Santa Cruz. 
Oh, fiends! 

Voices. 
Ah. conquerors, sing! 

Now we have triumphed. 

We have torn the flag. 

Dance in a ring, \'ictorious spirits, dance ; 

Brought to a b>'word is the Spanish brag, 

And ruined is the grand inheritance. 

Mourn, wTetched Phihp. for your plan? are 

checked ; 



38 PHILIP THE KING 

Your colonies defenceless; your sweet faith 
Mocked by the heretics ; your ships are 

wrecked ; 
The strength of Spain has dwindled to a 

wraith. 

Aha ! you beaten Iving, you blinded fool ! 

Scream, for the empire tumbles from your 

rule. 

Philip. 
God will deliver me ; j'ou are but words 

Called in the night-time by malignant birds 

But who are you? 

The figure of De Leyva enters. 

Voice of De Ley\'a. 
I am De Lej'^^a, come 
Out of the sea, my everlasting home, 
To whisper comfort to my ruined friend. 
Dear, I am dead, but friendship cannot end ; 
Love does not die, and I am with you here. 
Often in sorrow you will feel me near, 



PHILIP THE KING 39 

Feel me, but never speak, nor hear me speak. 

Philip, whatever bitter Fate may wreak 

On Spain and j'ou, remember I am here, 

The dead are bound to those they held most 

dear. 

Philip. 

Dreams of the night. I dreamed De Leyva 

came. 

Voices. 

Awake to hear the story of your shame. 

{They cry. A gun is shot off. Bells.) 

Philip. 
(Rousing.) I dreamed I was defeated Uke 

those men 

WTiom I defeated ; I have felt their woe. 

"WTiat is this noise? A message? 

Enter then. 
Princess. 

A prisoner comes with news of \'ictory. 

Philip. 
So. 

Victory comes! We win! 



40 PHILIP THE KING 

Princess. 
The fleet has won! 

Philip. 
Thanks be to God on high. 

Princess. 
His will be done. 

Philip. 
Lord, help me use this victory for Thy praise. 

Lord, Thou hast burst this night of many 

days 

With glorious morning and my heart is full. 

O God, my God, Thy ways are wonderfuU 

Bring me the prisoner. 

Princess. 

He brought this letter. 

An Englishman is brought in. 

Philip. 
You are an Englishman? 

Prisoner. 
Yes, your Majesty. 



PHILIP THE KING 41 

Philip. 
This letter says that you can tell me 
how things have fared. Tell me your 
story. 

Pkisoner. 
I was at sea, my lord, fishing, some fifteen 
miles south-west from Falmouth. We were 
not expecting the Spanish fleet, our cruisers 
had said it was not coming. It was hazy 
summer weather and early morning. We 
could hear that we were among a big fleet, 
and when the haze lifted your ships were all 
round us, so we were taken aboard an ad- 
miral's ship. A dark man the admiral was, 
with a very quick w^ay ; he was not the chief 
admiral, but an Admiral Recalde, with the 
rearguard. 

Philip. 
Where was the English fleet at that time? 
Was it expecting us ? 



42 PHILIP THE KING 

Prisoner. 
No, your honour. It was windboiind in 

Plymouth, unprepared, as I told your ad- 
miral. Then I was taken down below. 

Philip. 
Did our fleet enter Plymouth, then ? 

Prisoner. 
No, my lord, and I could not think why, 

for the wind held and they had only to sail 

straight in. The day passed. 

The next day there was firing, and I 

thought "The Enghsh have got out of the 

trap at least," but the firing died down, and 

I concluded the English were beaten. 

Philip. 
Yes? 

Prisoner. 

I thought the ships would put ashore then 
to take what they had won, but they kept 
at sea some days, though there was firing 
every day, sometimes very heavy. They said 



PHILIP THE KING 43 

they were burning all the English towns 

as they passed, and then going to France to 

fetch an army ; and after some nights I was 

brought ashore in Calais to come to your 

Majesty. 

Philip. 

What did you see in Calais ? 

Prisoner. 
It was dark night, my lord, when they sent 
me in. I saw the road full of shipping, lit 
up like a town. 

Philip. 
What was the feeling among you English 
prisoners? That the Spaniards had pros- 
pered ? 

Prisoner. 

Yes, my lord. You had reached your 
army, which was all your intent. You had 
only to take it across the Channel ; the wind 
was fair for that. 



44 PHILIP THE KING 

Philip. 
So then you started for Spain. You know- 
no more of what happened ? 

Prisoner. 
No, my lord, except that looking back 

from a hilltop, I saw a great glare over 
Calais. 

Philip. 
Something was burning there? 

Prisoner. 
It was the bonfires, my lord, to give them 

light; they were embarking the army. 

Then in France later on we heard that Drake 

had been sunk off Calais with fifteen ships. 

A man said he had seen it. That is all I 

know, my lord. 

Philip. 
What you say will be proved. You will 

be returned to England. Treat this man 

well. [Exit Prisoner. 



PHILIP THE KING 45 

Princess. 
Father, what blessed news! 

Philip. 

We have not failed ; 

But then he hardly knew. The letter here 

Shows that our navy partly has prevailed. 

Princess, 
The news has spread. 

Cries Without. 
Long live King Philip ! Cheer ! 

Cries. 
Cheer our great King ! Long live our noble 

King. 

Beat "Santiago," drummers. 

Princess.' 

Hark! they sing. 

The court is dark with people, but more 
come. 

Cries. 
Long Uve King PhiHp ! 



46 PHILIP THE KING 

A Great Voice. 

Silence for the drum! 

And when the drum beats, we will lift our 

thanks 
Till his heart triumphs. 

Silence in the ranks ! 
Eyes front ! people, listen ! Our attempt 
Has triumphed more than our desires dreamt. 
England is ours. Give thanks. Sound 

trumpets. Sing ! 

Cries. 
Philip, Philip the King! God save the 

King ! 

Philip the conqueror! Philip! 

(A strayige cry.) 

Princess. 

Oh, look ! look ! . . . 

Just as they cheered, the palace banners 

shook, 

They took it for a sign. 



PHILIP THE KING 47 

The guards are there, 
Look, and the monks are forming in the 

square 
Bringing the blessed relics. Oh, my dear! 
I am so happy. Listen how they cheer. 
Father, they're cheering because Spain has 

won. 
All you have hoped and striven for is done. 
I hardly dare believe it. 

Cries. 

Long live Spain. 

Princess. 
O, there are horsemen, I must look again ! 

Cries. 
There is the Princess at the window. See? 

God save you, little lady. Which is she? 

There. Is the King there? No. He must 

be. Yes. 
God save your Grace. He's there with the 

Princess. 



48 PHILIP THE KINO 

Philip. 
Stand farther back; they saw you. 

Princess. 

Oh, not now ! 

They called 'God save me,' father; let me 

bow. 

Philip. 

Bow, then, my dear. 

Cries. 
God save your pretty face. 

Princess. 
Father, do come, they want you. 

Cries. 

Bless your Grace. 

God save the King — Iving PliiUp. 

Princess. 

Father dear, 

They're callmg for you; stand beside me 

here. 

Philip. 

Not yet. It is not time. 



PHILIP THE KING 49 

Cries. 
Philip the King! 

Princess. 
Oh, father, come! It is a thrilhng thing 

To know they won, and hear these shouts of 

praise. 

Cries. 
God save the King! God send him many 

days! 

Philip the King, the conqueror of the sea! 

St. James for Spain, King Phihp, victory ! 

King Philip ! Santiago ! 

Princess. 

Father. 

Philip. 

Wait! 

Kings must not yield them at too cheap a 

rate. 

Voices. 
Philip the King ! The English are destroyed ! 

God save him ! Victory ! We are overjoyed ! 



50 PHILIP THE KING 

Let the bells ring! King Philip! Philip! 

Iving ! 
Ring the Cathedral bells — ay, let them ring ! 
St. Jaines for Spain! King Philip! Clear 

the guns ! (Guns shot off-) 

King Philip, fire — fire all at once ! 
King Philip, fire! King Philip, fire! St. 

Jaines ! 
Thank God, the King of kings, the Name of 

names ! 
Fire, King Philip ! Santiago, fire ! 
Give thanks to God who gives us our desire ! 
Philip, God save and bless him ! 

Philip (going to windoiu). 
I will speak. 

Voices. 
Fire! He's there! Iving Philip! 

Philip. 

]\Ian is weak. 

Voices. 
He's there! 



HllILIl' THE KING 61 

Princess. 
Oh, father, look ! 

Philip. 

Stand at my side. 

Voices. 
God bless and guard our blessed country's 

guide ! 

King Philip, fire! The King! 

{The bells begin.) 
Princess. 

Oh, bells of joy! 

And now the monks are singing. 

The Monks. 
Let us give thanks unto the Lord of lords, 
Who saves His faithful from the Egyptian 

swords. 

Voices. 

Amen. God save the King. 

The Monks. 
He made the Red Sea waters to divide, 

And led our Israel through with Him for guide. 



52 PHILIP THE KING 

Voices. 
Amen. God save the King! Philip the 

King! 

Philip. 

God, I thank Thee for this marvellous 

thing. 

The Monks. 

He whelmed King Pharaoh's anny in the sea, 
And of His mercy gave us victory. 

Voices. 
The famous kings are blown, like chaff 

Before Thy fiery car. 

Thou smit'st th' ungodly with Thy staff . . . 

PhiUp the King! God save our prudent 

King ! 

Philip. 

My subjects, whom God gave me for His 

ends . . . 

Princess. 

Whatever pain you bore, this makes amends. 

Voices. 
Speak to your loving hearts, your Majesty. 



I'liiiJi' rill': KiNd 63 

I fif) Ilis will; to (io(J \\\{'. t!;lory ho. 

The Monkb. 
Praise ITim, Huri .'ind uxoow, morning and 

evening ntar! 
The kings wlio mocked IliH wonJ ;ir(', hrokcri 

in U)(; war. 
Praise Ilim with Iieari and soul I Praise 

Ilim wil,li voicf; and hiU; I 

VorcEfl. 
The King! Co(J save the King! Silence;! 

He Hpeakn. Salute ! 

The Monks. 
In the dark night, en; dawn, we will arise 

and sing 

Glory to God on high, the praises of our King. 

VOICEB. 

The King is going to speak. He makes a 

sign. 
God bless your noble Grace and all your line ! 



64 PHILIP THE KING 

God bless you, Sir, for all your thought for us ! 
The conquering King, Philip victorious ! 
Philip the great and good ! Hush ! Silence ! 

Peace ! 
Philip ! Attention ! Bid the ringers cease. 
The King is going to speak; he raised his 

hand. 

Princess. 
Dear, to be loved as you are is most grand. 

Speak to them, father ; thank them for their 

love. 

The Monks. 

I will exalt the Name of God above. 

Voices. 
The bells are hushed. Be quiet! Silence 

all! 

Philip. 

I thought I heard, far off, a funeral call ; 
As in your dream, a melancholy cry. 

Princess. 
It was the fifes. 



rillLlF THE KING 56 

Philip. 
No ; listen ! 

Princess. 

That sound ? 

Philip. 

Ay. 

Princess. 
It was the crowd outside. Now they are 

still. 

Philip. 

No ; it was singing coming up the hill — 

Sad singing, too. 

Princess. 

I did not hear it. 

Philip. 

There ! 
Princess. 

The bells have left a trembling in the air. 

Philip. 
No ; it was voices. I will speak one word 

To these below. There is the noise I heard 

(Recalde's men are heard singing.) 



56 PHILIP THE KING 

Recalde's Men. 
Out of the deep, out of the deep, we come, 

Preserved from death at sea to die at home. 

Mercy of God alone preserved us thus ; 

In the waste sea Death laid his hand on us. 

Princess. 
The Black Monks in a penitential psalm. 

Voices. 
Philip the King ! 

Philip. 
I'll wait. 

Peincess. 

Oh, speak! 

Philip. 

Be calm! 

I cannot cross God's word with words of 

mine. 

Voices. 

Quiet, you singers! 

Princess. 

They are men in line. 
(Recalde's men are heard singing.) 



PHILIP THE KING 57 

Recalde's Men. 

We called the world too small with boast- 
ful hps; 

Now we are ghosts crawled from the bones 
of ships. 

We w^ere most glorious at our setting sail; 

Now our knees knock, our broken spirits fail. 

Our banner is abased and all our pride : 

A tale of ships that sank and men who died. 

Princess. 
Listen! Who are they? 

Philip. 

What is it they sing? 

Voices. 
The King is speaking. Silence for the 

King! 
Let the King speak ; be still. You ragged 

crew, 
Have you no manners ? Silence ! Who are 

you? 



58 PHILIP THE KING 

Recalde's Men. 
We are the beaten men, the men accursed, 

Whose bitter glory 'tis t' have borne the 

worst. 

Princess. 

They are not monks. 

Philip. 

Nor beggars. 

Princess. 

Now they stand. 

Voices. 
Yon navy's sweepings driven back to 

land. 
Go to the hens and tunnies; beat them 

down 
Back to the sea you ran from; back and 

drown. 

Recalde's Men. 
Pity our shame, you untried heroes here. 

Defeat's not victory, but 'tis bought as 

dear. 



PHILIP THE KING 59 

Philip. 
They are sailors from the fleet. 

Princess. 

They come with news. 

They are ragged to the skin, they have no 

shoes. 

Philip. 
The crowd is still. 

Princess. 
Why do they come like this? 

Philip. 
Listen ; their Captain tells them what it is. 

Recalde's Men. 
Darken the bedrooms for us, people all. 

And let us turn our faces to the wall, 

And let the darkness and the silence make 

A quiet time in which our hearts may 

break. 

{A murmur runs through the Court.) 

Princess. 
Father, what is it? 



60 PHILIP THE KING 

Philip. 

Child, the Act of One 

Wlio chastens earthly kings, whose Will 

be done. 

Princess. 

It means that we are beaten? 

Philip. 

Who can tell? 

Princess. 
Father. 

Philip. 
Dear child, even defeat is well. 

Princess. 
I thought that we were happy. 

Philip. 

Watch the square. 

Now tell me calmly what is passing there. 

Princess. 
The Captain comes, the crowd is making 

way. 

Philip. 

Who is it? Can you see? 



PHILIP THE KING 61 

Princess. 

His hair is grey. 
He walks bareheaded, slowly, ^nd the crowd 
Shrink as though Death were passing in 
his shroud. 

Philip. 

Worse news has come. Who is the man? 

Princess. 
His face . . . 

I seem to know him, but the air is strange. 

He puts the touch of Death upon the place. 

Nothing but Death could fashion such a 

change. 
He carries something. Now the people 

kneel. 
We are defeated, Father. 

Philip. 

What I feel 

I cover. Go within. Misfortune stuns 

None but the tender. [Exit Princess. 



62 PHILIP THE KING 

Voices. 

Give us back our sons. 
Philip, give back our sons, our lovely sons. 

The Palace Guard. 
Halt! Who comes there? 

A Voice. 
Spain and the Empire. 

The Guard. 

Pass, 

Spain and the Empire. 

Voices. 
They are drowned. Alas! 

Philip, give back our sons, our lovely sons. 

Enter Messenger, carrying an Admiral's 
chain. 

Philip. 
What brings you to me, Captain? 

Messenger. 

This gold chain . . . 

Bears the twelve badges of the strength of 

Spain 



PHILIP THE KING 63 

Once linked in glory, Philip, but now 

loosed. 

(Detaching link from link.) 

Castilla, Leon, Aragon, and these, 

Palestine, Portugal, the Sicilies, 

Navarre, Granada, the Valencian State, 

The Indies, East and West, the Archducate, 

The Western Mainland in the Ocean Sea. 

Those who upheld their strength have 

ceased to be. 

I, who am dying, King, have seen their graves. 

Philip, your Navy is beneath the waves. 

Philip. 
He who in bounty gives in wisdom takes. 

Messenger. 

King, forgive me, for my spirit breaks; 

1 saw those beaches where the Grange de- 

scends 
White with unburied corpses of stripped 
friends. 



64 PHILIP THE KING 

Philip. 
I grieve that Spain's disaster brings such 

loss. 

Messenger. 
From Pentland to the Groyne the tempests 

toss 
Unshriven Spaniards driving with the tide. 
They were my lovely friends and they have 

died, 
Far from wind-broken Biscay, far from 

home, 
With no anointing chrism but the foam. 

Philip. 
The dead will rise from unsuspected slime ; 

God's chosen will be gathered in God's time. 

Messenger. 
King, they died helpless ; our unwieldy fleet 

Made such a target to the English guns 

That we were riddled through like sifted 

wheat. 



PHILIP THE KING 65 

We never came to grappling with them 

once. 
They raked us from a distance, and then 

ran. 
Each village throughout Spain has lost a 

man ; 
The widows in the seaports fill the streets. 

Philip. 
Uncertain chance decides the fate of fleets. 

Messenger. 
Now the North Sea is haunted for all 

time 
By miserable souls whose dying words 
Cursed the too proud adventure as a crime. 
Our broken galleons house the gannet- 

birds. 
The Irish burn our Captain's bones for 

lime. 
O misery that the might of England 

wrought ! 



66 PHILIP THE KING 

Philip. 
Christ is the only remedy for thought 

When the mind sickens. We are pieces 

played, 
Not moving as we will, but as we are 

made; 
Beaten and spurred at times like stubborn 

steeds, 
That we may go God's way. Your spirit 

bleeds, 
Having been proved in trouble past her 

strength. 
Give me the roll in all its ghastly length. 
Which of my friends survive, if any live? 

Messenger. 
Some have survived, but all are fugitive. 

Your Admiral in command is living still; 

Michael Oquendo too, though he is ill. 

Dying of broken heart and bitter shame. 

Valdes is prisoner, Manrique the same. 



FHILIV THE KING 67 

Philip. 
God willed the matter; they are not to 

blame. 

Thank God that they are living. Name 

the rest. 

Messenger. 
They are all dead . . . with him you loved 
the best. 

Philip. 
I dreamed De Leyva died, so it is true? 

Messenger. 
Drowned on the Irish coast with all his 

crew. 
After enduring dying many days 
The sea has given him quiet. Many ways 
Lead men to death, and he a hard one 

trod, 
Bearing much misery, like a knight of God. 

Philip. 
Amen. Go on. 



68 philip the king 

Messenger. 
Hugh de Mongada died, 
Shot in his burning ship by Calais side, 
Cheering his men to save her. Pimentel 
Sank in a galleon shambled like a hell 
Rather than yield, and in a whirl of flames 
Pedro Mendoza, Captain of St. James, 
Stood with Don Philip thrusting boarders 

back 
Till their Toledan armour was burnt black. 
And both their helms ran blood. And there 

they fell, 
Shot down to bleed to death. They per- 
ished well, 
Happy to die in battle for their King 
Before defeat had fallen on their friends ; 
Happier than most, for where the merrows 

sing 
Paredes and his brother met their ends. 
And Don Alarcon, cast alive ashore. 



PHILIP THE KING 69 

Was killed and stripped and hanged upon a 
tree. 

And young Mendoza, whom the flagship 
bore, 

Died of starvation and of misery. 

But hundreds perished, King; why men- 
tion these? 

Battle and hunger, heart-break, and the 
seas 

Have overwhelmed the chivalry of Spain. 

Philip. 
Misfortune, after effort, brings no stain. 

Perhaps I underjudged the English fleet. 

How was it that the Spaniards met defeat? 

What evil fortune brought about our fall? 

Messenger. 
Their sailors and their cannon did it all. 

Philip. 
Yet when the fleet reached Calais all went 

well. 



70 PHILIP THE KING 

Messenger. 
Our woes began there. 

Philip. 
Tell me what befell. 

Messenger. 
We were to ship the troops in Calais Road ; 
They lay encamped, prepared to go aboard. 
To windward still the English fleet abode — 
Still as in port when peace has been restored. 

The wind and sea were fair, 
We lay at anchor there; 
The stars burned in the air. 
The men were sleeping, 
When in the midnight dark 
Our watchman saw a spark 
Suddenly light a bark 
With long flames leaping. 

Then, as thej- stood amazed, 
Others and others blazed ; 



PHILIP THE KING 71 

Then terror set them crazed, 
They ran down screaming : 
''Fire-ships are coming! Wake 
Cast loose, for Jesus' sake! 
Eight fire-ships come from Drake — 
Look at their gleaming!" 

Roused in the dark from bed, 
We saw the fire show red, 
And instant panic spread 
Through troops and sailors; 
They swarmed on deck unclad, 
They did what terror bade, 
King, they were like the mad 
Escaped from jailers. 

Some prayed for mercy, some 
Rang bells or beat the drum. 
As though despair had come 
At hell's contriving; 



72 PHILIP THE KING 

Captains with terror pale 
Screamed through the dark their hail, 
"Cut cable, loose the sail, 
And set all driving!" 

Heading all ways at once, 
Grinding each other's guns, 
Our blundering galleons 
Athwart-hawse galleys, 
Timbers and plankings cleft. 
And half our tackling reft, 
Your grand Armada left 
The roads of Calais. 

Weary and overwrought 
We strove to make all taut ; 
But when the morning brought 
The dawn to light us, 
Drake, with the weather gage. 
Made signal to engage. 



PHILIP THE KING 73 

And, like a pard in rage, 
Bore down to fight us. 

Nobly the English line 
Trampled the bubbled brine; 
We heard the gun-trucks whine 
To the taut laniard. 
Onwards we saw them forge, 
White billowing at the gorge. 
"On, on!" they cried, "St. George! 
Down with the Spaniard!" 

From their van squadron broke 
A withering battle-stroke, 
Tearing our planked oak 
By straiks asunder. 
Blasting the wood like rot 
With such a hail of shot, 
So constant and so hot 
It beat us under. 



74 PHILIP THE KINO 

The English would not close; 
They fought us as they chose, 
Dealing us deadly blows 
For seven hours. 
Lords of our chiefest rank 
The bitter billow drank, 
For there the English sank 
Three ships of ours. 

Then the wind forced us northward from 

the fight; 
We could not ship the army nor return ; 
We held the sea in trouble through the night. 
Watching the English signals blink and bum. 
The English in a dim cloud kept astern; 
All night they signalled, while our shattered 

ships 
Huddled like beasts beneath the drovers' 

whips. 

4: 4c 4b 4: 4: 



PHILIP THE KING 75 

At dawn the same wind held; we could 

not strive. 
The Enghsh drove us north as herdsmen 

drive. 
***** 

Under our tattered flags, 
With rigging cut to rags, 
Our ships like stricken stags 
Were heaped and hounded. 
Caught by the unknown tide, 
With neither chart nor guide. 
We fouled the Holland side. 
Where four more grounded. 

Our water-casks were burst. 
The horses died of thirst. 
The wounded raved and curst, 
Uncared, untended. 
All night we heard the crying 
Of lonely shipmates dying; 



76 PHILIP THE KING 

We had to leave them lying. 
So the fight ended. 

Philip. 
God gives His victory as He wills. But 

this 
Was not complete destruction. What 

thing worse 
Came to destroy you? 

Messenger. 

An avenging curse, 

Due for old sins, destroyed us. 

Philip. 

Tell the tale. 

Messenger. 
King, when morning dawned it blew a 

gale. 

But still the English followed, and we fled 

Till breakers made the dirty waters pale. 

We saw the Zealand sandbanks right ahead. 

Blind in a whirling spray that gave us dread ; 



PHILIP THE KING 77 

For we were blown there, and the water 

shoaled. 
The crying of the leadsmen at the lead, 
Calling the soundings, were our death- 
bells tolled. 

We drifted down to death upon the sands — 

The EngUsh drew away to watch us drown ; 

We saw the bitter breakers with grey 
hands 

Tear the dead body of the sandbank brown. 

We could do nothing, so we drifted down 

Singing the psalms for death — we who 
had been 

Lords of the sea and knights of great re- 
nown, 

Doomed to be strangled by a death un- 
clean. 

Philip. 

So there the ships were wrecked? 



78 PHILIP THE KING 

Messenger. 

Time had not struck. 
King, we learned how blessed mercy 

saves : 
Even as our forefoot grounded on the 

muck, 
Tripping us up to drown us in the waves, 
A sudden windshift snatched us from our 

graves 
And drove us north ; and now another woe, 
Tempest unending, beat our ships to 

staves — 
A never-dying gale with frost and snow. 

Now our hearts failed, for food and water 

failed ; 
The men fell sick by troops, the wounded 

died. 
They washed about the wet decks as we 

sailed 



PHILIP THE KING 79 

For want of strength to lift them overside. 
Desolate seas we sailed, so grim, so wide, 
That ship by ship our comrades disap- 
peared. 
With neither sun nor star to be a guide, 
Like spirits of the wretched dead we steered. 

Till, having beaten through the Pentland 

Pass, 
We saw the Irish surf, with mists of spray 
Blowing far inland, blasting trees and grass. 
And gave God thanks, for we espied a bay 
Safe, with bright water running down the 

clay — 
A running brook where we could drink and 

drink. 
But drawing near, our ships were cast 

away. 
Bilged on the rocks; we saw our comrades 

sink . . . 



80 PHILIP THE KING 

Or worse : for those the breakers cast ashore 
The Irish killed and stripped; their bodies 

white 
Lay naked to the wolves — yea, sixty 

score — 
All down the windy beach, a piteous sight. 
The savage Irish watched by bonfire fight 
Lest more should come ashore; we heard 

them there 
Screaming the bloody news of their delight. 
Then we abandoned hope and new despair. 

And now the fleet is sunken in the sea. 
And all the seamen, all the might of Spain, 
Are dead, O King, and out of misery. 
Never to drag at frozen ropes again — 
Never to know defeat, nor feel the pain 
Of watching dear companions sink and die. 
Death's everlasting armistice to the brain 
Gives their poor griefs quietus ; let them lie. 



PHILIP THE KING 81 

I, like a ghost returning from the grave, 
Come from a stricken ship to tell the news 
Of Spanish honour which we could not 

save, 
Nor win again, nor even die to lose ; 
And since God's hidden wisdom loves to 

bruise 
Those whom He loves, we, trembling in 

despair. 
Will watch our griefs to see God's finger 

there, 
And make His will our solace and excuse. 

Defeat is bitter and the truth is hard — 
Spain is defeated, England has prevailed; 
This is the banner which I could not guard. 
And this the consecrated sword which 

failed. 
Do with your dying Captain as you will. 
{He lays down sword and banner.) 



82 PHILIP THE KING 

Philip. 
I, from my heart, thank God, from whose 

great hand 
I am so helped with power, I can still 
Set out another fleet against that land. 
Nor do I think it ill 
If all the running water takes its course 
TVliile there are unspent fountains at the 

source. 

He sendeth out His word and melteth 

them. 
Take back your standard, Captain. As 

you go, 

Bid the bells toll and let the clergy- 
come. 

Then in the city by the strike of diiim 
Proclaim a general fast. In bitter days 
The soul finds God. God us. 

[Exit Captain. 



PHILIP THE KING 83 

Philip {alone). 

De Leyva, friend, 
Whom I shall never see, never again. 
This misery that I feel is over Spain. 
O God, beloved God, in pity send 
That blessed rose among the thorns — an 

end : 
Give a bruised spirit peace. 
{He kneels. A muffled march of the drums.) 

Curtain. 



OTHER POEMS 



THE ''WANDERER" 

All day they loitered by the resting ships, 
TeUing their beauties over, taking stock; 
At night the verdict left my messmates' 

lips, 
''The Wanderer is the finest ship in dock." 

I had not seen her, but a friend, since 

drowned. 
Drew her, with painted ports, low, lovely, 

lean, 
Saying, "The Wanderer, clipper, outward 

bound, 
The loveliest ship my eyes have ever seen — 

"Perhaps to-morrow you will see her sail. 

She sails at sunrise" : but the morrow showed 
87 



88 THE ''WANDERER'* 

No Wanderer setting forth for me to hail; 
Far down the stream men pointed where 
she rode, 

Rode the great trackway to the sea, dim, 

dim, 
Already gone before the stars were gone. 
I saw her at the sea-line's smoky rim 
Grow swiftly vaguer as they towed her on. 

Soon even her masts were hidden in the haze 
Beyond the city; she was on her course 
To trample billows for a hundred days ; 
That afternoon the norther gathered force. 

Blowing a small snow from a point of east. 
"Oh, fair for her," we said, "to take her 

south." 
And in our spirits, as the wind increased. 
We saw her there, beyond the river mouth. 



THE ''WANDERER" 89 

Setting her side-lights in the wildering dark, 
To glint upon mad water, while the gale 
Roared like a battle, snapping like a shark, 
And drunken seamen struggled with the 
sail. 

While with sick hearts her mates put out of 

mipd 
Their little children left astern, ashore, 
And the gale's gathering made the darkness 

blind, 
Water and air one intermingled roar. 

Then we forgot her, for the fiddlers played, 
Dancing and singing held our merry crew ; 
The old ship moaned a little as she swayed. 
It blew all night, oh, bitter hard it blew ! 

So that at midnight I was called on deck 
To keep an anchor-watch : I heard the sea 



90 THE "WANDERER" 

Roar past in white procession filled with 

wreck ; 
Intense bright frosty stars burned over me, 

And the Greek brig beside us dipped and 

dipped, 
White to the muzzle like a half-tide rock. 
Drowned to the mainmast with the seas she 

shipped ; 
Her cable-swivels clanged at every shock. 

And like a never-dying force, the wind 
Roared tijl we shouted with it, roared until 
Its vast vitality of wrath was thinned, 
Had beat its fury breathless and was still. 

By dawn the gale had dwindled into flaw, 
A glorious morning followed : with my friend 
I climbed the fo'c's'le-head to see; we saw 
The waters hurrying shorewards without end. 



THE "WANDERER" 91 

Haze blotted out the river's lowest reach; 
Out of the gloom the steamers, passing by, 
Called with their sirens, hooting their sea- 
speech ; 
Out of the dimness others made reply. 

And as we watched, there came a rush of 

feet 
Charging the fo'c's'le till the hatchway 

shook. 
Men all about us thrust their way, or beat, 
Crying, ^^Th.Q Wanderer! Down the river! 

Look!" 

I looked with them towards the dimness; 

there 
Gleamed like a spirit striding out of night, 
A full-rigged ship unutterably fair, 
Her masts like trees in winter, frosty- 
bright. 



92 THE ''WANDERER" 

Foam trembled at her bows like wisps of 

wool; 
She trembled as she towed. I had not 

dreamed 
That work of man could be so beautiful, 
In its own presence and in what it seemed. 

"So, she is putting back again," I said. 
''How white with frost her yards are on the 

fore." 
One of the men about me answer made, 
"That is not frost, but all her sails are 

tore, 

"Torn into tatters, youngster, in the gale; 
Her best foul-weather suit gone." It was 

true, 
Her masts were white with rags of tattered 

sail 
Many as gannets when the fish are due. 



THE ''WANDERER" 93 

Beauty in desolation was her pride, 
Her crowned array a glory that had been ; 
She faltered tow'rds us like a swan that died, 
But although ruined she was still a queen. 

''Put back with all her sails gone," went the 

word; 
Then, from her signals flying, rumour ran, 
''The sea that stove her boats in killed her 

third ; 
She has been gutted and has lost a man." 

So, as though stepping to a funeral march, 
She passed defeated homewards whence she 

came. 
Ragged with tattered canvas white as starch, 
A wild bird that misfortune had made tame. 

She was refitted soon : another took 

The dead man's office ; then the singers hove 



94 THE "WANDERER" 

Her capstan till the snapping hawsers shook ; 
Out, with a bubble at her bows, she drove. 

Again they towed her seawards, and again 
We, watching, praised her beauty, praised 

her trim, 
Saw her fair house-flag flutter at the main, 
And slowly saunter seawards, dwindling 

dim; 

And wished her well, and wondered, as she 

died, 
How, when her canvas had been sheeted 

home. 
Her quivering length would sweep into her 

stride. 
Making the greenness milky with her foam. 

But when we rose next morning, we discerned 
Her beauty once again a shattered thing; 



THE y WANDERER" 95 

Towing to dock the Wanderer returned, 
A wounded sea-bird with a broken wing. 

A spar was gone, her rigging's disarray 
Told of a worse disaster than the last ; 
Like draggled hair dishevelled hung the 

stay. 
Drooping and beating on the broken mast. 

Half-mast upon her flagstaff hung her flag ; 
Word went among us how the broken spar 
Had gored her captain like an angry stag, 
And killed her mate a half-day from the 
bar. 

She passed to dock upon the top of flood. 
An old man near me shook his head and 

swore : 
"Like a bad woman, she has tasted blood — 
There'll be no trusting in her any more." 



96 THB t'WAXDERER'' 

Wo thought it truth, and when wo saw hor 

there 
L>-ing m dock, beyond, across the stream, 
^^'o would forget that we had oallevi her fair. 
Wo thought her murvioress and the pa^st a 

dream. 

And when she sailed ag:un. we watched in awe. 
Wondering what bloody aot her beauty 

planner!, 
Wliat evil lurkeii bel\ind the thing we saw, 
Wliat strength wa.s there that thus annulled 

man's hand, 

How next its triimiph would compel niiin's 

will 
Into compliance with external Fate, 
Row next the powers would use her to work 

ill 
On suffering men : we had not long to wait. 



THE "WAXDERER" 97 

For soon the outcry of derision rose, 
"Here comes the Wanderer !" the expected 

cry. 
Guessing the cause, oiur mockings joined with 

those 
Yelled from the shipping as they towed her 
by. 

She passed us close, her seamen paid no 

heed 
To what was called : they stood, a sullen 

group, 
Smoking and spitting, careless of her need, 
Mocking the orders given from the poop. 

Her mates and hoys were working her ; we 

stared. 
TM\at was the reason of this strange return. 
This third annulUng of the thing prepared? 
No outward evil could our eyes discern. 



PS THE VWASD£R£R" 

Oiily like one who ha\-ing formed a plan 
Bewnd the pitch of common minds, she 

sailed. 
Mocked and deserted by the common iDan> 
Made half di\-ine to me for having failed. 

We learnovi the reason soon ; below the town 
A staj' had panevi like a snapping i>?evi. 
"Warning." the men thought, "not to take 

her down." 
They tod: the amen, they would not pivx^ed. 

Days passed b^ore anotlks ci^w would sign. 
Tbe WiMndtrer lay in dock alone, unmanned. 

Fearevi as a thing possessed by ix^wei^ malign. 
Bouiid Viiidor our^"^ r.o: :o leave the laiivi. 

But undor passing Time fear passes too; 
Tbat tenor pa^jsevi, the sailors* hearts grew 
bold. 



TUB -wwynKKKK" iH) 

We lo:U"uod in titno that slto had found :\ orow 
And was bound out and southw:vrds as of 
old. 

And in contempt wo thought. " A Httlo while 
Will bring hex back agjiiii, liiduuvntleii, 

spoiled. 
It is horsoll : she eannot change her style: 
She has the habit now of being foiU\i." 

So when a ship apjx\iroii among the haze, 
We thought, "The irtifjJtTtT back again"; 

but no. 
No irij'MVr- sliowed for many, many din's. 
Her pivssing lights made other waters glow. 

But we would often think and talk of her. 
Tell newer hands her ston*. wondering, then, 
Upon what ocean slie was U'(Uj(f«T<T, 
Bound to the cities built bv foreign men. 



100 THE t' WANDERER" 

And one by one our little conclave thinned, 
Passed into ships and sailed and so away, 
To drown in some great roaring of the wind, 
Wanderers themselves, unhappy fortune's 
prey. 

And Time went by me making memory dim, 
Yet still I wondered if the Wanderer fared 
Still pointing to the unreached ocean's rim. 
Brightening the water where her breast was 
bared. 

And much in ports abroad I eyed the ships, 
Hoping to see her well-remembered form 
Come with a curl of bubbles at her lips 
Bright to her berth, the sovereign of the storm. 

I never did, and many years went by, 
Then, near a Southern port, one Christmas 
Eve, 



THE "WANDERER'' 101 

I watched a gale go roaring through the sky, 
Making the caldrons of the clouds upheave. 

Then the wrack tattered and the stars 

appeared, 
Millions of stars that seemed to speak in 

fire; 
A byre cock cried aloud that morning neared. 
The swinging wind-vane flashed upon the 

spire. 

And soon men looked upon a glittering earth. 
Intensely sparkling Uke a world new-born ; 
Only to look was spiritual birth, 
So bright the raindrops ran along the thorn. 

So bright they were, that one could almost 

pass 
Beyond their twinkling to the source, and 

know 



102 THE "WANDERER'' 

The glory pushing in the blade of grass, 
That hidden soul which makes the flowers 
grow. 

That soul was there apparent, not revealed, 
Unearthly meanings covered every tree, 
That wet grass grew in an immortal field. 
Those waters fed some never-wrinkled sea. 

The scarlet berries in the hedge stood out 
Like revelations but the tongue unknown ; 
Even in the brooks a joy was quick : the 

trout 
Rushed in a dumbness dumb to me alone. 

All of the vallej'' was aloud with brooks; 
I walked the morning, breasting up the fells. 
Taking again lost childhood from the rooks. 
Whose cawing came above the Christmas 
bells. 



THE '/WANDERER" 103 

I had not walked that ghttering world before, 
But up the hill a prompting came to me, 
"This line of upland runs along the shore: 
Beyond the hedgerow I shall see the sea." 

And on the instant from beyond away 
That long familiar sound, a ship's bell, broke 
The hush below me in the unseen bay. 
Old memories came : that inner prompting 
spoke. 

And bright above the hedge a seagull's 

wings 
Flashed and were steady upon empty air. 
"A Power unseen," I cried, "prepares these 

things ; 
Those are her bells, the Wanderer is there." 

So, hurrying to the hedge and looking down, 
I saw a mighty bay's wind-crinkled blue 



104 THE "WANDERER" 

Ruffling the image of a tranquil town, 
With lapsing waters glittering as they grew. 

And near me in the road the shipping swung, 
So stately and so still in such great peace 
That like to drooping crests their colours 

hung, 
Only their shadows trembled without cease. 

I did but glance upon those anchored ships. 
Even as my thought had told, I saw her plain ; 
Tense, like a supple athlete with lean hips. 
Swiftness at pause, the Wanderer come 
again — 

Come as of old a queen, untouched by Time, 
Resting the beauty that no seas could tire. 
Sparkling, as though the midnight's rain 

were rime. 
Like a man's thought transfigured into fire. 



THE "WANDERER" 105 

And as I looked, one of her men began 
To sing some simple tune of Christmas day ; 
Among her crew the song spread, man to man, 
Until the singing rang across the bay; 

And soon in other anchored ships the men 
Joined in the singing with clear throats, until 
The farm-boy heard it up the windy glen, 
Above the noise of sheep-bells on the hill. 

Over the water came the lifted song — 
Blind pieces in a mighty game we swing; 
Life's battle is a conquest for the strong; 
The meaning shows in the defeated thing. 



AUGUST, 1914 

How still this quiet cornfield is to-night ! 
By an intenser glow the evening falls, 
Bringing, not darkness, but a deeper light ; 
Among the stooks a partridge covey calls. 

The windows glitter on the distant hill ; 
Beyond the hedge the sheep-bells in the fold 
Stumble on sudden music and are still ; 
The forlorn pinewoods droop above the wold. 

An endless quiet valley reaches out 
Past the blue hills into the evening sky; 
Over the stubble, cawing, goes a rout 
Of rooks from harvest, flagging as they fly. 

So beautiful it is, I never saw 

So great a beauty on these English fields, 

106 



AUGUST, 1914 107 

Touched by the twilight's coming into awe, 
Ripe to the soul and rich with summer's 
yields. 

itt * * * * 

These homes, this valley spread below me 

here. 
The rooks, the tilted stacks, the beasts in pen. 
Have been the heartfelt things, past-speaking 

dear 
To unknown generations of dead men, 

Who, century after century, held these farms. 
And, looking out to watch the changing sky. 
Heard, as we hear, the rumours and alarms 
Of war at hand and danger pressing nigh. 

And knew, as we know, that the message 

meant 
The breaking off of ties, the loss of friends, 



108 AUGUST, 1914 

Death, like a miser getting in his rent, 
And no new stones laid where the trackway 
ends. 

The harvest not yet won, the empty bin, 
The friendly horses taken from the stalls. 
The fallow on the hill not yet brought in. 
The cracks unplastered in the leaking walls. 

Yet heard the news, and went discouraged 

home, 
And brooded by the fire with heavy mind, 
With such dumb loving of the Berkshire 

loam 
As breaks the dumb hearts of the English 

kind, 

Then sadly rose and left the well-loved 

Downs, 
And so by ship to sea, and knew no more 



AUGUST, 1914 109 

The fields of home, the byres, the market 

towns. 
Nor the dear outline of the English shore, 

But knew the misery of the soaking trench, 
The freezing in the rigging, the despair 
In the revolting second of the wrench 
When the blind soul is flung upon the air, 

And died (uncouthly, most) in foreign lands 
For some idea but dimly understood 
Of an English city never built by hands 
Which love of England prompted and made 
good. 



If there be any life beyond the grave, 
It must be near the men and things we love, 
Some power of quick suggestion how to save, 
Touching the living soul as from above. 



110 AUGUST, 1914 

An influence from the Earth from those dead 

hearts 
So passionate once, so deep, so truly kind. 
That in the living child the spirit starts, 
Feeling companioned still, not left behind. 

Surely above these fields a spirit broods, 
A sense of many watchers muttering near 
Of the lone Downland with the forlorn woods 
Loved to the death, inestimably dear. 

A muttering from beyond the veils of Death 
From long-dead men, to whom this quiet 

scene 
Came among blinding tears with the last 

breath. 
The dying soldier's vision of his queen. 

All the unspoken worship of those lives 
Spent in forgotten wars at other calls 



AUGUST, 1914 111 

Glimmers upon these fields where evening 

drives 
Beauty like breath, so gently darkness falls. 

Darkness that makes the meadows holier 

still, 
The elm-trees sadden in the hedge, a sigh 
Moves in the beech-clump on the haunted 

hill. 
The rising planets deepen in the sky, 

And silence broods like sp^it on the brae, 
A glimmering moon begins, the moonlight 

runs 
Over the grasses of the ancient way 
Rutted this morning by the passing guns. 



THE RIVER 

All other waters have their time of peace, 
Calm, or the turn of tide or summer drought ; 
But on these bars the tumults never cease, 
In violent death this river passes out. 

Brimming she goes, a bloody-coloured rush 
Hurrying her heaped disorder, rank on rank, 
Bubbleless speed so still that in the hush 
One hears the mined earth dropping from the 
bank, 

Slipping in little falls whose tingeings drown, 

Sunk by the waves for ever pressing on. 

Till with a stripping crash the tree goes 

down, 

Its washing branches flounder and are gone. 
112 



THE RIVER 113 

Then, roaring out aloud, her water spreads, 
Making a desolation where her waves 
Shriek and give battle, tossing up their heads, 
Tearing the shifting sandbanks into graves, 

Changing the raddled ruin of her course 
So swiftly, that the pilgrim on the shore 
Hears the loud whirlpool laughing like a horse 
Where the scurfed sand was parched an hour 
before.' 

And always underneath that heaving tide 
The changing bottom runs, or piles, or quakes 
Flinging immense heaps up to wallow wide. 
Sucking the surface into whirls Hke snakes. 

If anything should touch that shifting sand. 
All the blind bottom sucks it till it sinks ; 
It takes the clipper ere she comes to land. 
It takes the thirsting tiger as he drinks. 



114 THE RIVER 

And on the river pours — it never tires ; 
Blind, hungry, screaming, day and night the 

same 
Purposeless hurry of a million ires. 
Mad as the wind, as merciless as flame. 



There was a full-rigged sliip. the Travancore, 
Towing to port against that river's rage — 
A glittering ship made sparkling for the 

shore, 
Taut to the pins in all her equipage. 

Clanging, she topped the tide ; her sails were 

furled, 

Her men came loitering downwards from the 
yards ; 

They who had brought her half across the 

world. 

Trampling so many billows into shards. 



THE RIVER 115 

Now looking up, beheld their duty done, 
The ship approacliing port, the great masts 

bare, 
Gaunt as three giants striding in the sun, 
Proud, with the colours tailing out like hair. 

So, having coiled their gear, they left the 

deck ; 
Within the fo'c'sle's gloom of banded steel, 
Mottled Uke wood with many a painted speck, 
They brought their plates and sat about a 

meal. 

Then pushing back the tms, they lit their 

pipes. 
Or slept, or played at cards, or gently spoke. 
Light from the portholes shot m dusty 

stripes 
Tranquilly mo^^ng, sometimes blue with 

smoke. 



116 THE RIVER 

These sunbeaans sidled when the vessel rolled, 
Their lazy yellow dust-strips crossed the floor, 
Lighting a man-hole leading to the hold, 
A man-hole leaded down the day before. 

Like gold the solder on the man-hole shone ; 
A few flies threading in a drowsy dance 
Slept in their pattern, darted, and were gone. 
The river roared against the ship's advance. 

And quietly sleep came upon the crew, 
Man by man drooped upon his arms and 

slept ; 
Without, the tugboat dragged the vessel 

through, 
The rigging whined, the yelUng water leapt, 

Till blindly a careering wave's collapse 
Rose from beneath her bows and spouted 
high. 



THE RIVER 117 

Spirting the fo'c'sle floor with noisy slaps ; 
A sleeper at the table heaved a sigh, 

And lurched, half-drunk with sleep, across 

the floor, 
Muttering and blinking like a man insane, 
Cursed at the river's tumult, shut the door, 
Blinked, and lurched back and fell asleep 

again. 

Then there was greater silence in the room. 
Ship's creakings ran along the beams and 

died, 
The lazy sunbeams loitered up the gloom. 
Stretching and touching till they reached the 

side. 



Yet something jerking in the vessel's course 
Told that the tug was getting her in hand 



118 THE RIVER 

As, at a fence, one steadies down a horse. 
To rush the whirlpool on Magellan Sand; 

And in the uneasy water just below 

Her Mate inquired "if the men should stir 

And come on deck ? " Her Captain answered 

''No, 
Let them alone, the tug can manage her." 

Then, as she settled down and gathered 

speed, 
Her Mate inquired again "if they should 

come 
Just to be ready there in case of need. 
Since, on such godless bars, there might be 



But "No," the Captain said, "the men have 

been 
Boxing about since midnight, let them be. 



THE RIVER 119 

The pilot's able and the ship's a queen, 
The hands can rest until we come to quay." 

They ceased, they took their stations ; right 

ahead 
The whirlpool heaped and sucked; in tenor 

tone 
The steady leadsman chanted at the lead, 
The ship crept forward trembling to the bone. 

And just above the worst a passing wave 
Brought to the line such unexpected stress] 
That as she tossed her bows her towrope 

gave, 
Snapped at the collar like a stalk of cress. 

Then, for a ghastly moment, she was loose, 
Blind in the whirlpool, groping for a guide, 
Swinging adrift without a moment's truce, 
She struck the sand and fell upon her side. 



120 THE RIVER 

And instantly the sand beneath her gave 
So that she righted and again was flung, 
Grinding the quicksand open for a grave, 
Straining her masts until the steel was sprung. 

The foremast broke ; its mighty bulk of steel 
Fell on the fo'c'sle door and jammed it tight ; 
The sand-rush heaped her to an even keel, 
She settled down, resigned, she made no 
fight, 

But, like an overladen beast, she lay 
Dumb in the mud with billows at her lips. 
Broken, where she had fallen in the way, 
Grinding her grave among the bones of ships. 



At the first crashing of the mast, the men 
Sprang from their sleep to hurry to the 
deck ; 



THE RIVER 121 

They found that Fate had caught them in a 

pen, 
The door that opened out was jammed with 

wreck. 

Then, as, with shoulders down, their gathered 

strength 
Hove on the door, but could not make it 

stir. 
They felt the vessel tremble through her 

length ; 
The tug, made fast again, was plucking 

her. 

Plucking, and causing motion, till it seemed 
That she would get her off; they heard her 

screw 
Mumble the bubbled rip-rap as she steamed ; 
''Please God, the tug will shift her!" said 

the crew. 



122 THE RIVER 

"She's off!" the seamen said; they felt her 

gUde, 
Scraping the bottom with her bilge, until 
Something collapsing clanged along her side ; 
The scraping stopped, the tugboat's screw 

was still. 

"She's holed !" a voice without cried ; "holed 

and jammed — 
Holed on the old Magellan, sunk last June. 
I lose my ticket and the men are damned ; i 
They'll drown like rats unless we free them 

soon. 

"My God, they shall not!" and the speaker 

beat 
Blows with a crow upon the foremast's 

wreck ; 
Minute steel splinters fell about his feet, 
No tremour stirred the ruin on the deck. 



THE RIVER 123 

And as their natures bade, the seamen learned 
That they were doomed within that buried 

door; 
Some cursed, some raved, but one among 

them turned 
Straight to the manhole leaded in the floor, 

And sitting down astride it, drew his knife. 
And staidly dug to pick away the lead. 
While at the ports his fellows cried for life : 
"Burst in the door, or we shall all be dead !" 

For like a brook the leak below them clucked. 
They felt the vessel settling ; they could feel 
How the blind bog beneath her gripped and 

sucked. 
Their fingers beat their prison walls of steel. 

And then the gurgling stopped — the ship 

was still. 
She stayed ; she sank no deeper — an arrest 



124 THE RIVER 

Fothered the pouring leak ; she ceased to fill. 
She trod the mud, drowned only to the breast. 

And probing at the well, the captain found 

The leak no longer rising, so he cried : 

''She is not sinking — you will not be 

drowned ; 
The shifting sand has silted up her side. 

''Now there is time. The tug shall put 

ashore 
And fetch explosives to us from the town; 
I'll burst the house or blow away the door 
(It will not kill you if you all lie down). 

"Be easy in your minds, for you'll be free 
As soon as we've the blast." The seamen 

heard 
The tug go townwards, butting at the sea ; 
Some lit their pipes, the youngest of them 

cheered. 



THE RIVER 125 

But still the digger bent above the lid, 
Gouging the solder from it as at first, 
Pecking the lead, intent on what he did ; 
The other seamen mocked at him or cursed. 

And some among them nudged him as he 

picked. 
He cursed them, grinning, but resumed his 

game; 
His knife-point sometimes struck the lid and 

clicked. 
The solder-pellets shone like silver flame. 

And still his knife-blade clicked like ticking 

time 
Counting the hour till the tug's return. 
And still the ship stood steady on the 

slime. 
While Fate above her fingered with her urn. 



126 THE RIVER 

Then from the tug beside them came the hail : 
''They have none at the stores, nor at the 

dock, 
Nor at the quarry, so I tried the gaol. 
They thought they had, but it was out of 

stock. 

''So then I telephoned to town; they say 
They've sent an engine with some to the 

pier; 
I did not leave till it was on its way, 
A tug is waiting there to bring it here : 

"It can't be here, though, for an hour or 

more ; 
I've lost an hour in trying, as it is. 
For want of thought conimend me to the 

shore. 
You'd think they'd know their river's ways 

by this." 



THE RIVER 127 

"So there is nothing for it but to wait," 
The Captain answered, funiing. ''Until 

then, 
We'd better go to dinner, Mr. Mate." 
The cook brought dinner forward to the 

men. 

Another hour of prison loitered by; 
The strips of sunUght stiffened at the port, 
But still the digger made the pellets fly. 
Paying no heed to his companions' sport. 

While they, about him, spooning at their tins, 
Asked if he dug because he found it cold. 
Or whether it was penance for his sins. 
Or hope of treasure in the forward hold. 

He grinned and cursed, but did not cease 

to pick. 
His sweat dropped from him when he bent 

his head, 



128 THE RIVER 

His knife-blade quarried down, till with a 

click 
Its grinded thinness snapped against the 

lead. 

Then, dully rising, brushing back his sweat, 
He asked his fellows for another knife. 
''Never," they said; "man, what d'ye 

hope to get?" 
''Nothing," he said, "except a chance for 

Ufe." 

"Havers," they said, and one among them 

growled, 
"You'll get no knife from any here to 

break. 
You've dug the manhole since the door 

was fouled, 
And now your knife's broke, quit, for Jesus' 

sake." 



THE RIVER 129 

But one, who smelt a bargain, changed his 

tone, 
Offering a sheath-knife for the task in hand 
At twenty times its value, as a loan 
To be repaid him when they reached the 

land. 

And there was jesting at the lender's greed 
And mockery at the digger's want of sense, 
Closing with such a bargain without need, 
Since in an hour the tug would take them 
thence. 

But "Right," the digger said. The deal 

was made 
He took the borrowed knife, and sitting 

down 
Gouged at the channelled solder with the 

blade, 
Saying, "Let be, it's better dig than drown." 



130 THE RIVER 

And nothing happened for a while ; the heat 
Grew in the stuffy room, the sunhght sHd, 
Fhes buzzed about and jostled at the meat, 
The knife-blade chcked upon the manhole 
Ud: 

And one man said, ''She takes a hell of 

time 
Bringing the blaster," and another snored ; 
One, between pipe-pufi's, hummed a smutty 

rhyme, 
One, who was wea^-ing, thudded "^ith his 

sword. 

It was as though the ship were in a dream, 
Caught in a magic ocean, calm hke death, 
Tranced, till a presence should arise and 

gleam, 
IMaking the waters conscious with her 

breath 



THE RIVER 131 

It was so drowsy that the river's cries, 
Roaring aloud their ever-changing tune, 
Came to those sailors like the drone of flies, 
FilUng with sleep the summer afternoon. 

So that they slept, or, if they spoke, it was 
Only to worry lest the tug should come: 
Such power upon the body labour has 
That prison seemed a blessed rest to some, 

Till one man leaning at the port-hole, 

stared, 
Checking his yawning at the widest stretch, 
Then bUnked and swallowed, while he 

muttered, scared, 
"That blasting-cotton takes an age to 

fetch." 

Then swiftly passing from the port he went 
Up and then down the fo'c'sle till he stayed, 



132 THE RIVER 

Fixed at the port-hole with his eyes intent, 
Round-eyed and white, as if he were 
afraid, 

And muttered as he stared, ''My God! 

she is. 
She's deeper than she was, she's settUng 

down. 
That palm-tree top was steady against this, 
And now I see the quay below the to^n. 

"Look here at her. She's sinking in her 

tracks. 
She's going down by inches as she stands ; 
The water's darker and it stinks Uke flax. 
Her going down is churning up the sands." 

And instantly a panic took the crew, 
Even the digger blenched ; his knife-blade's 
haste 



THE RIVER 133 

Cutting the solder witnessed that he knew 
Time on the brink with not a breath to 
waste. 

While far away the tugboat at the quay 
Under her drooping pennon waited still 
For that explosive which would set them 

free, 
Free, with the world a servant to their will. 

Then from a boat beside them came a blare, 
Urging that tugboat to be quick; and men 
Shouted to stir her from her waiting there, 
"Hurry the blast, and get us out of pen. 

"She's going down. She's going down, 

man! Quick!" 
The tugboat did not stir, no answer came; 
They saw her tongue-Uke pennon idly lick 
Clear for an instant, lettered with her name. 



134 THE RIVER 

Then droop again. The engine had not 

come, 
The blast had not arrived. The prisoned 

hands 
Saw her still waiting though their time had 

come, 
Their ship was going down among the sands, 

Going so swiftly now, that they could see 
The banks arising as she made her bed; 
Full of sick sound she settled deathward, 

she 
Gurgled and shook, the digger picked the 

lead. 

And, as she paused to take a final plunge. 
Prone like a half-tide rock, the men on deck 
Jumped to their boats and left, ere Uke a 

sponge 
The river's rotten heart absorbed the wreck ; 



THE RIVER 135 

And on the perilous instant ere Time struck 
The digger's work was done, the lead was 

cleared, 
He cast the manhole up ; below it muck 
Floated, the hold was full, the water leered. 

All of his labour had but made a hole 
By which to leap to death; he saw black 

dust 
Float on the bubbles of that brimming 

bowl, 
He drew a breath and took his life in trust. 

And plunged head foremost into that black 

pit, 
Where floating cargo bumped against the 

beams. 
He groped a choking passage blind with grit, 
^nThe roaring in his ears was shot with 



screams. 



136 THE RIVER 

So, with a bursting heart and roaring ears 
He floundered in that sunk ship's inky- 
womb, 
Drowned in deep water for what seemed 

hke years. 
Buried alive and groping through the tomb, 

Till suddenly the beams against his back 
Gave, and the water on his eyes was bright ; 
He shot up through a hatchway foul with 

wrack 
Into clean air and life and dazzling light, 

And striking out, he saw the fo'c'sle gone, 
Vanished, below the water, and the mast 
Standing columnar from the sea; it shone 
Proud, with its colours flying to the last. 

And all about, a many-wrinkled tide 
Smoothed and erased its eddies, wander- 
ing chilled, 



THE RIVER 137 

Like glutted purpose, trying to decide 

If its achievement had been what it willed. 

And men in boats were there; they helped 

him in. 
He gulped for breath and watched that 

patch of smooth, 
Shaped like the vessel, wrinkle into grin. 
Furrow to waves and bare a yellow tooth. 

Then the masts leaned until the shroud- 
screws gave. 

All disappeared — her masts, her colours, 
all. 

He saw the yardarms tilting to the grave; 

He heard the siren of a tugboat call. 

And saw her speeding, foaming at the bow, 
Bringing the blast-charge that had come 
too late. 



138 THE RIVER 

He heard one shout, ''It isn't wanted 

now." 
Time's minute-hand had been the hand of 

Fate. 

Then the boats turned; they brought him 

to the shore. 
Men crowded round him, touched him, and 

were kind; 
The Mate walked with him, silent, to the 

store. 
He said, ''We've left the best of us behind." 

Then, as he wrung his sodden clothes, the 

Mate 
Gave him a drink of rum, and talked 

awhile 
Of men and ships and unexpected Fate; 
And darkness came and cloaked the river's 

guile. 



THE RIVER 139 

So that its huddled hurry was not seen, 
Only made louder, till the full moon 

climbed 
Over the forest, floated, and was queen. 
Within the town a temple-belfry chimed. 

Then, upon silent pads, a tiger crept 
Down to the river-brink, and crouching 

there 
Watched it intently, till you thought he 

slept 
But for his ghastly eye and stiffened hair. 

Then, trembling at a lust more fell than his. 
He roared and bounded back to coverts 

lone, 
Where, among moonlit beauty, slaughter 

is. 
Filling the marvellous night with myriad 

groan. 



WATCHING BY A SICK-BED 

I HEARD the wind all day, 
And what it was trying to say. 
I heard the wind all night 
Rave as it ran to fight ; 
After the wind the rain, 
And then the wind again 
Running across the hill 
As it runs still. 

And all day long the sea 

Would not let the land be, 

But all night heaped her sand 

On to the land ; 

I saw her glimmer white 

All through the night. 

Tossing the horrid hair 

Still tossing there. 

140 



WATCHING BY A SICK-BED 141 

And all day long the stone 

Felt how the wind was blown; 

And all night long the rock 

Stood the sea's shock; 

While, from the window, I 

Looked out, and wondered why, 

Why at such length 

Such force should fight such strength. 



NOTE 

The River^ which is contained in this vol- 
ume, was first published in the Century Maga- 
zine ; TJie Wanderer in Harper's Magazine; 
Watching hy a Sick-Bed and August, 1914 in 
Harper's Weekly. I thank the editors of these 
periodicals for permission to reprint them here. 

JOHN MASEFIELD. 



314-77-7 



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